Well Meant
by Halcris
Summary: Something strange seems to be going on in the world of drugs. C.I.5 are asked to help.


**Well Meant. **

Taking the steps two at a time, Bodie caught up with Doyle as he mounted the stairs, en route to the duty-room, and from there, when summoned, to their boss's office.

"Morning, sunshine," he said cheerfully, throwing a friendly arm round his team-mate's shoulder, "Any idea what's lined up for us today ?."

"Not a clue," replied Doyle.

They went into the duty-room and consulted the notice board, which instructed them to report, as expected, to Cowley's office, and they made their way there.

Cowley was seated at his desk, reading some papers. "Report from the Drugs Squad," he informed them, and continued reading with a frown.

"Is it something for us ?," Bodie enquired.

"It might be," replied Cowley.

"They don't often ask for our help," commented Doyle.

Cowley finished his perusal of the long report, and decided to enlighten his waiting men.

"They report a new supplier on the scene, who is being very difficult to track down."

"That's their job," commented Bodie rather cheekily.

"I agree," said Cowley, "but there's more. Since he came on the scene, there has been a considerable rise in the number of fatalities from heroin over-doses, and all of them have been traced back towards this elusive supplier."

"Well," said Bodie, "He won't last long if he's killing off his clients. Do they think he's made an error in the strength of what he's selling ?"

"Perhaps he hasn't," said Doyle thoughtfully

Both the other two turned to stare at him as he came out with this enigmatic remark.

"What do you mean ?," demanded Cowley.

"I've just been reading a book," continued Doyle, "about Jack the Ripper."

"That was murder, not drugs," interrupted Bodie. "What's that got to do with this ?."

"I know," said Doyle, "But it told how, at that time, there was a spate of 'copy-cat' murders, too. But as they weren't as clever as the Ripper, the culprits often got caught easily. But their line of defence was that they were doing society good by getting rid of prostitutes."

Cowley's quick mind followed Doyle's line of thought faster than Bodie, who just looked puzzled. "You mean someone could be deliberately getting rid of addicts ?," he commented.

"That's a crazy idea," Bodie expostulated. "Who'd risk doing that ?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Cowley. "I suppose it could be possible. We've had maniacs before who thought they were acting for the good of society."

There was silence for a moment as all three minds weighed up the possible situation and its implications.

"Right," said Cowley at last, "You pair get out there, visit your contacts, and see if you can pick up anything to give us a clue."

The duo went their separate ways, to maximise the number of contacts each could make, and reported back to Cowley later in the afternoon.

"My report's a bit negative," Doyle began. "The sudden surge in the number of deaths seems to have struck fear into the punters. They are worried that there is some 'bad stuff' going around. So lots of them are making desperate efforts to quit. They are not buying, and so the pushers and dealers are worried too, as they are losing money. It's become an uneasy scene."

Cowley looked at his man thoughtfully. "Then, if we do have a maniac," he said, "acting from altruistic motives, he's already having some success, isn't he ?"

He turned to Bodie. "What did you find ?," he demanded.

"Much the same as Doyle," replied Bodie. "But I did find a couple of small-time villains, who I think know more than they are telling me. So I'm going back to them tomorrow, and taking Barton with me."

"Why Barton ?," asked Doyle, a little put out that his partner was co-opting someone else and not him.

Bodie turned to him with a grin. "Because, mate," he said, "Those two have already had a run in with Barton. He's big and threatening and they are scared stiff of him. They'll talk soon enough when he scowls at them."

The next morning Bodie and Barton went off to deal with the two men Bodie had named. Doyle spent the morning in records, looking them up to see what was known about them there. Both were petty criminals with minor convictions to their name. But he did learn that they had given information to C.I.5 before, and it had been reliable.

He went on to do a lot more research into the drug fatalities that had started this enquiry. He was trying to find a common denominator in all the cases, which might lead him towards one single pusher or dealer. It was plodding work, but his police training had taught him to do it patiently, and he got on with it.

A sudden thought crossed his mind. He left his present work, and moved to a totally different section of the Records. What he found there pleased him immensely. Now he had something specific that he could take to his boss.

Bodie and Doyle reached Cowley's office almost together. He looked up as they entered and read the eager look on both their faces.

"I can see you both have something to report," he said astutely. "Let's hear from Bodie first, Doyle. He's got less patience than you."

Bodie pretended to look affronted, but hurried into his report.

"Barton and I collared the two I told you about, and this is what they told us. They admitted rather reluctantly that they had been banned from their 'local' for persistent fighting when drunk. As they haven't a car, they've taken to walking to the next nearest place, The Bellman. They don't particularly like it. The beer is all right, but it's a centre for addicts, and, of course, pushers and dealers, and they are not into that scene."

"I've heard of it," interrupted Doyle. "The Drugs Squad raid it regularly. I've never been there myself."

"Neither have I," said Bodie and went on with his story. "They sit quietly in a corner, but they do notice the others there. And just recently they've been watching three men new to the scene. They are foreigners, and keep themselves very much to themselves. At least one of them speaks fairly good English, but they talk amongst themselves with a language they don't recognise. It's not French, Italian or German, they say, but sounds like Eastern European."

"Interesting," said Cowley, "Anything more ?."

"Yes," Bodie replied. "They told us that though they haven't seen them approach anyone, they seem to take a keen interest in all the negotiations that go on openly there, between addicts and suppliers, and one of them scribbles things into a little notebook."

Cowley turned to Doyle. "Does all this mean anything to you ?," he asked.

"Yes, in a way it does," replied Doyle. "I've been looking into details about the addicts who died, and they all frequented The Bellman. But I've found something more significant."

"Oh, what's that ?," demanded his boss impatiently.

"I looked into the reports that we get regularly from Interpol, and what I found made me think that my idea wasn't as far-fetched as it sounded. A year ago, something similar happened in Rome There was a sudden sharp rise in drug deaths cases, and it was never explained. Then six months ago, Paris had a dramatic rise in over-dose fatalities, and they didn't find who was responsible there either. And now it's our turn. To my mind this is more than pure co-incidence, surely ?."

Cowley repeated the phrase they'd often heard from him before."I don't believe in co-incidences," he declared.

"I agree with you, Doyle, it looks as if something is going on. But as yet, there is no real proof to suggest it involves the three men that Bodie has heard about though. We've got to find out more before we can be sure they are involved."

"Barton and I are planning to visit The Bellman this evening, said Bodie, "to have a look at them."

"That does seem to be the next step," agreed Cowley.

For the next few days, Bodie and Doyle continued to work separately. Doyle contacted a friend in the drugs squad and got a list of the main addicts in the area. He spent several evenings following each one, and finding, as he had expected that they all tended to gravitate towards The Bellman. He only followed them, but did not go in, as he knew Bodie was working there, trying to get to know the three strangers. He didn't want to risk blowing his mate's cover. He knew that might easily happen, for due to his days in the police he was quite well known by some of the likely traders there. He wasn't concerned for Bodie's safety, as he knew he had Barton as back-up. So he just watched each man on his list to see if anything untoward happened.

Meanwhile Bodie and Barton had started their efforts at The Bellman. Barton had gone in first. Their two informants were not there yet, but they had been strongly warned not to let on they knew the C.I.5 men.

Their quarry, the three foreigners, were there however, as Barton quickly spotted. He got himself a pint, and retreated to a far corner, where he could watch the men discretely.

Waiting in the shadows outside, Bodie knew that when his man didn't emerge again, it meant that the men he was anxious to investigate were there, and it was time for him to enter.

He was playing a part. A change of clothing had made a great deal of difference to his usual elegant appearance. Grubby overalls, a flat cap, and a donkey-jacket, allied to a slouching walk, made him look like an ordinary working man.

He made his way to the bar, and got himself a beer. And then with a rolling gait, which suggested that he was already pretty drunk, he made his way over, and plonked himself down beside the three men sitting quietly together.

He didn't attempt to talk to them straight away, but sat slurping his beer morosely, and gazing at all the other customers in the rapidly-filling bar-room. Deals were going on quite openly at some of the tables, with money changing hands and small packets being passed over.

After about half-an-hour, he picked up his empty glass, waving it about carelessly and made to rise as if he were going for another.

He nudged the man next to him. "Useless lot, aren't they ?, he said, deliberately slurring the words.

"Pardon," said the man, turning to look at him.

"I said, look at that lot," went on Bodie, "Totally useless, aren't they ? No good for anything."

Startled, the man agreed politely. He wasn't going to argue with this big fellow, who was obviously pretty drunk.

Bodie decided that that was enough for a first contact. He wasn't going to rush things too fast, and risk scaring them off. He and Barton planned to keep coming for several more nights.

He got up, taking his glass with him, and walked unsteadily back to the bar. He didn't look back, but Barton, who was watching keenly, saw the man turn to talk animatedly to the other two, pointing at the retreating figure.

Bodie, still acting as if he was very drunk, put his glass on the bar and left. Barton waited a few minutes and then followed him out along the street to where their car was parked, and climbed in. He told Bodie what he had seen, which pleased him quite a bit.

"Well, I think we've made a good start," he said. "We'll try a bit more tomorrow."

The next evening, Doyle was following a man on his list, one called Rollins. As he appeared to be making for The Bellman it looked as if it was the same pattern again. Then there came an interruption. They were about 100 yards or so from the pub, when a man stepped out of a doorway and spoke to Rollins. There was a little animated conversation which Doyle could see as he crept cautiously nearer, but could not hear as he was too far away. Then he saw Rollins hand over some money, and receive something in return. Instead of going on to the pub, he now turned round and hurried back the way he'd come. Doyle shrank into a dark shop doorway, and let him pass. He watched the other man go back up the street, and saw him step into the entrance of The Bellman.

Doyle hadn't seen the man before, but Bodie would have recognised him. He was the one of the three strangers who spoke the best English.

Early the next evening, Doyle was at home. He'd just got himself a meal and was preparing to go out on his next following session. His phone rang. It was base, relaying a call from his friend in the drugs squad.

"Hi, Ray," said the man, "I just called to tell you to cross one name of your list. He was found dead this morning,"

Doyle consulted his list. "Oh, which one ?," he asked.

"A chap called Rollins," replied his friend.

"Really ?," exclaimed Doyle. "That was who I was following last night !."

And he went on to explain what he had seen, that Rollins had apparently got his 'fix' from this man on the street, instead of going on to the pub for it.

His friend was impressed. "Looks as if your lot are beginning to get some results," he said. "I'll have to tell my boss, but I think he's liaising with Cowley, who doesn't want any action from us until he's ready."

"Bodie's working inside the pub," said Doyle, "and I think Cowley wants to wait till he sees what he can find out. But at least it looks as if we are on the right lines. Keep in touch and I'll pass on anything I learn."

He rang off then, but he was pleased with what he'd heard. They were clearly making progress.

Meanwhile, what was Bodie doing ? Maintaining his part, he was trying to make closer contact with the suspect trio.

As before, Barton went in first and got settled at his vantage point. Then Bodie entered, and to Barton, it seemed as if the three men in the other corner were pleased to see him arrive. It looked as if they'd even been saving a seat for him, for there was a coat lying on the adjacent seat, which was quickly picked up when Bodie, clutching his pint, moved in that direction. He sank into the offered chair, and was met with a polite "Good evening."

Progress, he thought to himself. He didn't rush to make any comment, but as he started on his pint, surveyed the other customers with a look of disgust. The bar-room was fast filling with its usual quota of addicts in search of a 'fix', and those eager to supply it, at a price. At last he spoke to the man sitting beside him.

"Usual useless lot here again, I see," he said, and this time he got quick agreement.

"Yes, they are," said the man. "A total waste of space." Then he ventured a query.

"Why don't the police get rid of them ?," he asked.

"Too many of them, I suppose," commented Bodie. "Wouldn't do any good filling the jails with them."

"They could execute them," suggested the man.

Bodie turned a drunken surprised look at the man. "Not the British way, mate," he said. "Too soft."

Then he risked saying more. "Mind you," he spoke, slurring his words, "I could get rid of a few. I've got a gun, war souvenir. But police wouldn't like it. They'd stop me."

The man sitting beside him studied Bodie with a new interest.

"Actually they are killing themselves off, aren't they ?" said Bodie, "With that stuff they keep using. But not fast enough."

Then deciding he'd said enough to sow a few seeds, he got up and made his way to the bar. He had another beer standing there, and then staggered out.

Barton, watching carefully, saw the three men in a huddle, talking rapidly in their own language, and throwing glances at the back of the figure at the bar.

When he left and joined Bodie in the car, he found him looking rather worried.

"I pushed it a bit this time," Bodie confessed. "I hope I haven't overdone it."

"Shouldn't think so," Barton said re-assuringly. "They were talking about you, I reckon, quite animatedly, but they were looking rather pleased."

"Oh, well," said Bodie, "We'll find out by how they behave to me tomorrow."

He would have been very pleased if he had known what happened next. The three men, who never drank to excess, got up and hurried out. They made their way to a small hotel down by the river. They went to see the person who was employing them. Once there, they poured out what was to them exciting news. They told how they had been having difficulty in carrying out their task.

"Why ?," demanded their employer imperiously. "You have the necessary product and enough money."

"Yes," agreed their spokesperson, "But because I'm the only one who speaks good enough English, it is taking longer to make contacts. But," he went on excitedly, "We might have solved that."

And he went on to tell about the man they had met, and the views he had been expressing. He asked permission to co-opt him to help, and it was given it, a little reluctantly.

So as Barton and Bodie repeated their routine the next evening, Bodie was a little surprised to find that he was almost eagerly awaited and invited to join the three in the corner.

Almost at once, he was addressed by the man sitting beside him, who introduced himself. "I am known as Rollo," the man said in his good, if slightly accented English. "What is your name ?."

Bodie thought quickly, and came up with an invented alias. "Fred, Fred Simpson," he said.

"Mr. Simpson," said the man. "We would like to talk to you when you are not drunk."

Bodie was a bit surprised at this, but answered quickly. "I'm only drunk in the evenings, when I've had a fruitless day looking for work," he grumbled. This answer seemed to please the man.

"If I give you an address, you could come there in the morning, not drunk ?," asked Rollo. "We might be able to give you a job."

Bodie's thoughts quickened. This sounded promising. "Most certainly, I could !," he declared.

Rollo turned to have some quick words in his own tongue with his companions, who nodded apparently in agreement. Then he fished in an inside pocket and brought out a slip of paper folded over. He turned to Bodie and slipped it into the nearest pocket of his jacket.

"No more tonight," he said firmly. "Ten o'clock tomorrow. Tell no-one !."

Bodie nodded, tapping his nose with one finger, and got on with drinking his pint. How he managed to sit through the rest of the evening, he did not know. He was dying to get away, to tell, first Barton, and then his boss, Cowley. But by sheer strength of will, he managed to keep up the pretence of being already pretty drunk, and continued his muttered grumbling about the addicts.

At last, he was able to leave, and reeled unsteadily towards the door. Once outside, he raced to his car. He thought about calling Cowley at once, but decided to wait till Barton joined him, and then go back to base to report personally.

The following morning Doyle passed The Bellman on his way to look up a contact, to find out from him where to pick up the addict he was planning to follow this evening. He was making his way towards a row of rather poor houses backing onto the river. It wasn't exactly a salubrious area, but it was where his contact shared a house with several other poverty-stricken friends.

As he got closer to his destination, he spotted a small super-market. Seeing it reminded him that he needed some milk. He'd used the last from his 'fridge at breakfast-time this morning. He might as well get it now to save time later.

He parked his car on the opposite side of the road, got out, locked it automatically, and started to cross the road. As he did so, he saw a man come out of the little shop with a loaded carrier bag. Startled, he looked again, more closely, and verified his first quick impression. Yes, it was ! It was the man he'd seen selling something to Rollins that other evening.

On an impulse, he decided to follow him. As the man was on foot, it seemed unlikely that he was going very far. It might be interesting and useful to find out where he lived.

He moved over to the other side of the road and began to walk after the man, who was striding along purposefully. He led him to a row of slightly run-down houses close to the river. It was a terrace, with front doors opening straight onto the street. As he watched the man disappeared down a narrow alley, which he guessed led round to give access to back doors. He waited a bit then moved forward to look down the alley. There was no sign of the man, so he ventured to move quietly down it. As he had guessed, it came out to the back of the houses.

He looked right and left. There was nothing to tell him which way the man had gone. But two doors along to the right he could see a back door standing open. He moved towards that. As he neared he could pick up a murmur of voices from inside. He reached the doorway, and looked down the empty hallway. Taking the chance that this was where the man had gone, he reckoned that a little bit of eaves-dropping might be useful. So he crept cautiously in and moved slowly towards the sound of voices.

But he had misjudged his quarry. He'd hardly gone a couple of yards when he heard a sound behind him. He swung round quickly, to be confronted by the man he had been following, now facing him and holding an evil-looking pistol !

"Move," ordered the man, pointing down the hallway. Doyle had little choice but to obey, as he turned and was pushed forward towards the half-open door at the end of the passage.

The man shoved him into the room. "Caught him snooping," he said.

It would he difficult to say who was the most surprised as Doyle suddenly found himself facing two more men, and Bodie !

But Bodie re-acted fastest. He shot forward, and charged his mate, landing him a blow that knocked him to the ground. Then he yanked him to his feet again, holding him in a fierce half-nelson. As he did, he hissed in his ear.

"Co-operate , or you're dead."

"Who is this ?," demanded Rollo. "Do you know him ?."

"Yes, I know him," snapped Bodie, holding his captive fast. "He's a nasty little weasel that keeps following me about. Thinks I'll give him a job."

"Why don't you get rid of him ?," asked Rollo. "Do you want us to do it for you ?." He pointed towards the wide windows of the room. "It's quiet here, and the river's handy."

"Thanks, I'll do it myself," replied Bodie, pulling out his gun, "It is the ideal place, isn't it ?"

One of the men moved and opened the French windows designed to give access to the short stretch of lawn leading right to the river-bank.

Bodie pushed Doyle out and across the grassy slope.

"Make a run for it," he ordered in a fierce whisper, "And drop when I fire."

Doyle played along. He back-heeled his mate with a sharp kick in the shins, and sprinted away as Bodie let him go. He'd almost reached the path that ran along the river-bank, when the shot rang out. Obediently, he dropped to the ground and lay still.

Bodie moved towards him. Then he heard his mate give a muffled exclamation. "Damn," he whispered, "They're coming to check. It's the river for you, lad. Float till you're out of sight."

As the three men walked across the grass towards him, he holstered his gun, grabbed Doyle, and rolled him over to the bank. A quick push, and the prone figure was over the edge and falling into the Thames with a loud splash.

The sudden immersion in the cold water was a bit of a shock, but Doyle had been ready. He'd taken a deep breath, and let himself float face-down in the water, keeping quite still.

Bodie turned to meet the advancing men. "Well, that's got rid of him," he said, adopting a bold callous manner in the hope that he had successfully deceived them. To his relief he found that they looked quite impressed.

But as he turned, his eyes caught sight of something that gave him a momentary jolt - a few drops of blood on the hard surface of the path. He'd been so careful, he thought, but had he hit Doyle in spite of all his efforts ?.

Fortunately for Doyle, the current was quite strong in that part of the river, and after a few long moments, his floating body had been swept round a sharp curve. When he judged he was safely out of sight, he came up for air, and began to swim gently without splashing towards the nearest bank.

He was looking for a place where it would be easy to clamber out, when to his surprise, he saw two figures on the bank, waving and beckoning him. As he got closer, he recognized them. They were two fellow agents, his friend Jax, and another man. He reached the bank and their eager hands pulled him up and out. Jax produced a blanket and wrapped it quickly round him.

"You were waiting for me !," exclaimed Doyle in some astonishment. "How did you know ?."

Jax's dark face grinned at him. "Bodie's 'wired'," he said. "We heard it all. There's a dual action going on, us and the drugs boys. We saw you turn up, but we've been keeping a discreet distance, and we were too far away to stop you in time."

Doyle's quick mind understood it now, and was concerned that he might so easily have broken his partner's cover.

He was cold and wet, and an involuntary shiver ran through him, prompting Jax to tuck the blanket more closely round him.

"Come on," he said, "We've been sent to look after you. I'll run you home to get comfortable. My car's just over there. And if you've got the keys, Mike here will collect yours and follow us."

Luckily Doyle's jacket had been zipped up, so he hadn't lost any of his stuff, though he wondered briefly what a dip in the Thames might have done for his gun and his radio-phone. He fished out his car keys, and handed them to Mike.

"It's parked opposite the little supermarket," he said.

"I'll find it." replied Mike.

"Do you think you could bring me some milk while you are there ?" asked Doyle.

"Will do," Mike grinned at him, and shot off.

Jax hurried Doyle over to his nearby car, settled him in the passenger seat, and swiftly drove him back to his flat.

Mike got the milk, found Doyle's car, and followed them back to his flat. Then he and Jax left to return to their stake-out task.

Pleased to be back in the comfort of his own place, Doyle let the warmth of a leisurely shower ease the river's chill out of him. He discovered the cause of the few drops of blood Bodie had seen, - a nasty nick in the fleshy part of his left hand. It wasn't that bad really, not much more than a deep cut. He put a temporary dressing on it and resolved to let their own doctor check it when he returned to base.

He got himself a quick meal, and returned to Headquarters. He was anxious to know what was going on with Bodie, but there was no information in yet. He busied himself writing up his reports on the addicts he had followed.

Later that afternoon he retired to the canteen to get himself a much-needed cup of coffee. The waiting for news was rather tedious. He was sitting with a small group of other agents, when the door opened and Bodie strode in. He was still wearing his workman's gear, but to Doyle's great relief he appeared to be all right. Jax and Mike were just behind him.

Doyle greeted him cheerfully. "Here he comes," he said, with a grin to those sitting around, "Supposed to be my team-mate, and what did he do this morning ? Shot me and tipped me in the river."

Bodie looked a bit taken aback. "I had to, mate," he protested. "They'd have killed you !."

Doyle relented. "I know that, you idiot," he said, "I'm only teasing. But let me tell you, it wasn't fun. The Thames is very wet and cold, and it tastes horrible too."

"You're not supposed to drink it !," retorted Bodie.

Then he remembered the blood spots. "Did I hit you ? I thought I was being so careful."

"Just a scratch," replied Doyle, holding up his bandaged hand. "Nothing to bother about." He waved a hand at the agents sitting beside him. "But we're all waiting to hear what happened after you'd got rid of me. Jax didn't say much apart from telling me it was a joint operation."

Bodie pulled off the flat cap, and shrugged himself out of the donkey jacket. "It's quite a story," he said. "Someone get me a coffee, and then I'll tell you." He settled himself in the seat beside Doyle, flashing him a smile, and looked round at his eager audience.

"When I told Cowley about the appointment that had been suggested to me, he immediately liaised with the Drug Squad, and set up a dual observation. I was fitted up with a 'wire' and kept the appointment. A squad with men from both groups kept a discreet distance, but were listening in to every word. Your arrival wasn't in the plan, Doyle. You didn't know about it. It could have proved a bit awkward. But I dealt with it as best I could, and actually it helped. The men were impressed, and it made them more eager to enlist my help."

"What did they want of you ?," asked Doyle.

"Because only Rollo speaks reasonable English," went on Bodie, "he was the only one who could contact the addicts. They wanted me to help by doing some of that for them." He stopped to drink some of his coffee.

"Actually," he continued, "they were so impressed with how I dealt with you that they were even more determined to get me to help them. They wanted me to meet the person behind the scheme. Rollo said, "Come and meet our leader. She lives in the flat upstairs."

"She !," exclaimed a voice from one of his audience. "A woman !."

Bodie was very pleased with the re-action. He had quite a story to tell, and he had them listening to every word.

"They led me upstairs," he went on, "and I met her. Her name is Madam Ganis. She is the widow of a very wealthy Turkish businessman. That's where they are from, Turkey. Some years ago they were a happy family, herself and her husband and their one child, a daughter. Then the daughter, aged eighteen, went to study in Rome. Before she had been there a year, she got in with the wrong people, and suddenly, without any warning, they got the news that she was dead of a heroin overdose. Her parents were devastated, especially her father, who doted on her. He never recovered. He went into a decline, and died less than six months later. So she was doubly bereaved."

A murmur of sympathy went round the listening group, hard men though they were.

"She was stunned for a while, but revived. That's when she started her new purpose in life, - a vendetta ! She felt that to avenge her loved ones, she must do all she could to wipe out as many addicts as she could. She had the money. She recruited Rollo, who had been their chauffeur and his two friends. They absolutely idolise her. They treat her like a queen. And they started out on their mission."

"So I was right in that idea I had," said Doyle, remembering what he had discovered. "They started in Rome, and then in Paris, and now they've come here to London."

"That's it," said Bodie.

"What's happened now ?," asked one of his listeners.

"Well, remember I was 'wired'," said Bodie. "So Cowley and the head of the Drugs Squad were hearing every word."

At this point Jax took up the next bit of the story.

"It was decided that they had heard enough to go in and arrest them all. It sounded as if as well as the perpetrators they might find the deadly stuff they were issuing too. And they did, quite a large amount of it. It'll be under lock and key now, to be used as evidence and then destroyed.

Then we followed the orders that Cowley had issued to us. We were to go in with them in case any of them cut up rough, but if it all went smoothly we were to pick up Bodie and pull out."

"Why that ?," asked one of the men. "You'd think he'd be pleased with the success."

Doyle was quick to answer him. "But you see, our boss is a wily old fox. He could see the hassle there was going to be, in bringing this case to trial. There'd be talk of extradition and Interpol would be involved as well, for they are wanted in Rome and Paris, too. He'll be quite content for the Drugs Squad to sort it out. In his view we've done what was asked of us. We found out what was going on and who was responsible."

"Yes, that makes sense," agreed the questioner. The other men sitting around nodded too. That was Cowley all over, one step ahead of the game.

The assembled men got up to leave, some to go off-duty and some to get on with other tasks

Doyle stood up and tapped his mate on the arm. "Come on, he said, "I think you owe me a pint for tipping me in the river."

"All right," said Bodie as they moved towards the door, "but you owe me for the nasty bruise on my leg. You kicked me pretty hard."

"But you called me a 'little weasel'," retorted Doyle. "That wasn't very nice."

The departing agents smiled as they heard this friendly bantering continuing as the pair descended the stairs. It was all part of the rapport between this exceptional pair. They were used to it and enjoyed hearing it.


End file.
